


Broken Mind, Burning Heart

by FacetheRavenclaw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Doctor Whump, Emotional Baggage, Gallifrey, Gen, Original Character(s), Post-Episode: s09e11 Heaven Sent, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FacetheRavenclaw/pseuds/FacetheRavenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd assumed he'd be okay. He'd always be okay. The Doctor being okay was given. He was unbreakable, so they need not worry how their plan might affect him. All that mattered was getting the necessary information.</p><p>They'd been wrong. Oh, so wrong.</p><p>Or: After the events of "Heaven Sent," the Doctor isn't exactly the Doctor anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (or: Comedy and Tragedy)

He could hear the whispers.

Those of others. The ones who believed he’d lost his touch. The ones insisting he’d become lost in his own mind. When he heard these, he could only laugh.

Then there were the ones proclaiming his greatness. Exalting murmurs would stroke his ears from time to time, all variations of the same truth: he was wonderful. Again, he laughed.

Even better were the whispers of his mind, a part of himself or a separate entity entirely he had yet to determine. All he knew was that, when everything around him was quiet, everything inside him was loud. The colossal bangs in his mind and screeches ripping through his ears eventually bled through to his surroundings, and suddenly he was a character in the play of his nightmares. 

Hah. Funny.

Mixed in with the whispers of his mind were those of his TARDIS. The blue would flash across his mind’s eye, and the echoes of past philanthropic travels would kiss the sour portions of his subconscious, blessing him, for a moment, with pure enthrallment. Oh, the joys of that life…

But like he said, that was for a moment. Then everything was funny again. The “joys.” Right.

Next was the real kicker. The whispers of time.

Ah, time. Tick tock, tick tock. The seconds of eternity skipped easily by. He could feel them, could always feel time. Ingrained in his essence from birth, and now he couldn’t help but feel that his innate sense had all been building up to this single, perfect punchline.

For, you see, he’d spent so long running from Gallifrey. From the Time Lords. From that horrid, dull life of non-interference and apathy. Because he did care, and for a long time he’d aligned himself with the one species he felt exemplified caring better than any of the others.

So, having said all of that, would it surprise you to know that he’d been on Gallifrey for five centuries now, ruling over it like many of the austere Time Lords before him? Would it surprise you to know that he’d embraced that non-interference, having not left his planet to help another in the entire span of his reign?

And, most of all, would it surprise you to know that those creatures, that species that graced his pool of sensitivities and sent it rippling for long afterwards, had been locked out of his heart for good? That he’d unfamiliarized himself with the one species he’d once felt he needed most?

He’d ditched humans...for Time Lords…

...

Hilarious, right?


	2. The Downs of Height

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after a long period of abandonment, I return! Thought I'd left? Well, maybe I had, but I never could quite shake this fic from my brain, so here ya go. Chapter title's a bit of a mess. Oh well. Many thanks to "Rosewood" for the first review!
> 
> Also, things are a bit different from canon in this fic. You'll probably pick up on most of it, but I will elaborate on one point - Gallifrey, in my story, isn't at the end of the universe. It's still frozen in a pocket one. Just some clarification. Hope you enjoy! :)

As he had figured, not a soul attempted to object when he suddenly stood and left the meeting. No one even expressed surprise, save for the cursory pairs of eyes flickering briefly in his direction. The doors leading from the ex-war chamber slid easily open, and the guards set outside tersely nodded, clearly trying and failing to appear as though his behavior was perfectly normal.

He strode toward his room with an uncensored entitlement that the occupants of the tower knew too well; he was not to be disturbed. This, the occupants had learned over the years, was as urgent a command as a call to war, so they were quick to scurry out of harm’s way whenever his boots made that particular echoey banging against the cool, sleek floors. Said banging backed him all the way to his room, a final slam indicative of doors pounding shut behind him. 

The occupants released a collective breath and scuttled back to work. All was certainly well now.

All was not well.

It was such a state of unwellness that found Auriktarsonitonwellxinisonmanuke, Aurik for short, down in the break room at noon that very day, when the sun had crawled its highest and he was meant to be eating. Shortly thereafter, his meal was left abandoned.

“ _How long has it been?_ ” Aurik demanded in less of a commandeering, more so panicky manner, hurrying through the hallways as fast as his stout little body could carry him. 

“I don't know!” squeaked the young maid who had come to fetch him. “I wasn't there!”

Indeed, she hadn't been. The poor thing had heard from a rather frantic cook who’d frightened her aflutter with his brandishing of a knife. He, in turn, had been told by a harried servant, who had learned from a frantic official, and so and so forth until traced back to the innocent guard who hadn't known any better. It had been his first day keeping watch over this particular set of doors, and surely such a solitary figure as the one he was guarding would appreciate being left to his own devices.

The guard had been more wrong than he could possibly imagine, and there was a good chance he wouldn't be treated as innocent. Not when he'd left the Doctor alone. 

It was a long haul up to the secluded chamber of the Doctor, barred from the rest of the pristine structure with doors of starkly crude wood (that were, as might be predicted by one familiar with his past, painted a brilliant blue). The maid having defected some five floors below, Aurik stood alone before them. He didn't waste a moment; carefully, he turned the rudimentary doorknobs and entered.

A stretch of blackness encompassed all of the room, kept in check only by a shimmering blue light glowing down from far above. Stretching along with the blackness was a long, silver desk of a rounded shape and crumpled papers scattered all across it. Gallifreyan symbols that Aurik had yet to read in full sat engraved in the back wall, masked in part by a never-ending sea of bookshelves. Pressed against one of these bookshelves, head in hands, eyes unseeing, was the Doctor. 

His knees were drawn up close to his stomach, like a child curled up in a corner. He appeared altogether unaware of Aurik’s presence and was humming a disjointed little ditty, indecipherable mutters sprinkled in here and there. Occasionally when these mutters would bubble up on other days, Aurik would attempt to decode them, but currently there was a more pressing matter at hand.

“I'm here, sir,” he spoke up, gently closing the doors behind him. “It's me - Aurik.”

“Aurik…” like a computer rebooting. It was gruff, growlish, harsh, and distant. “Aurik.” 

His eyes floated up from their blank vigil over the floor, alighting on the newcomer. They were a touch too wide, his breaths a touch too ragged, and the tremor in his hands a touch too evident. 

“Yes, sir, it's me.”

The Doctor stared a moment longer, unresponsive, then suddenly sprang back to life.

“ _Cadet!_ " he snapped. “Where _were_ you?”

“Downstairs, in the break room.”

“ _Why?_ "

“I didn't know you'd been left alone, sir. Sorry.”

The Doctor retorted snappishly, his voice coming out a little too gasp-laden, “Don't...act as if...I _needed_ you, Cadet, but it is your...job...to be here...in case I've an assignment for you.”

The Doctor never had any assignments for Aurik, but it would do him no good to point this out, just as it had done him no good to inform the Doctor that he wasn't a cadet anymore. 

Instead, he went for the well-meaning advice approach, “Maybe catch your breath, sir?”

The Doctor, already on his feet, sent a sharp look Aurik’s way, but he didn't speak again until he'd taken in several deep breaths that slowly decreased in their raspiness.

 _All better?_ Aurik asked via look. It was one of those things he could only implicitly ask, never explicitly. That wasn't how the Doctor went about things, which Aurik had picked up on after more than a few attempts to coerce some verbal status indication out of him.

In reply, the Doctor simply coughed and hurried over to his bookshelves, running a hand along various spines.

“Hungry, sir?” Aurik asked, linking into a familiar chain of conversation between them.

“Never.”

“Chips?”

“...If you insist, then a soft drink too.”

“I'll send for it immediately, sir.”

That Aurik did, switching on his comm-bracelet to let the kitchen staff know. The Doctor, meanwhile, had removed a book from one of the shelves. He held it out to Aurik, who had since finished sending for food. “Here.”

Aurik nodded, taking it. “Thank you, sir.”

“You can stop with all that ‘sir’ nonsense.” 

The Doctor said this every day, and they both knew it had become a halfhearted protest. Still, they kept up the pretense, neither of them quite knowing how to act without it.

“Right. Of course.” 

The Doctor slipped into his customary chair (big, black, leather, could swivel around), Aurik moved to his spot by the doors, and then there was silence. Aurik’s mind settled into the world of his book, while the Doctor's was probably becoming one with the universe as he sat there with his eyes now closed. 

It was routine for them. The Doctor’s meditation, Aurik's reading, uninterrupted periods of silence. The important thing was that the Doctor had someone there with him. 

There had been no official agreement between the two of them that Aurik come and stay. It had been gradual. Initially, Aurik - who had still not been a cadet - was a temporary stand in for the guard at the time. No one had known of the Doctor’s...condition...before, always chalking up any strange silences or loud crashing as byproducts of his typical brand of madness. No one had thought...not until that day…

Aurik, who was young and new and didn't know much of the Doctor’s penchant for quirkiness, had gotten a sick feeling when he'd heard the aforementioned loud crashing. Cautiously, he'd stepped inside.

_“Lord President…?”_

The sight inside, coupled with the Doctor’s subsequent reaction, had been enough of a hint for anyone. Never alone. Never again.

Aurik had continued to fill in for the rest of the week, slowly and slowly spending more and more time with the then (and now, for the most part) stranger, absorbing all the cues of this particular “condition.” The Doctor, for his part, had grumbled, never quite showing anything but mild contempt for Aurik, but the two had managed to find a rhythm that was somehow comfortable.

Six months later, the routine was still going strong. Six months out of five hundred years. Aurik wondered what the Doctor had done the previous centuries to alleviate his duress. If he'd done anything. He'd tried asking the Doctor this once, but had only been met with an “I stayed quiet.” Other scant questionings had yielded “I had people over,” and “Didn't stay in my room as much.” The most sensible answer, however, came from the rest of the workers: everyone had been too afraid to disrupt their Lord President. Everyone until Aurik.

Now he operated under the official label of “assistant.” Again, the Doctor never had any assignments for Aurik.

Two hours later, the server having long since come with the chips and gone, a strand of symphony drifted into the air, disrupting Aurik from his reading. He glanced up, and sure enough, the Doctor was strumming his guitar, eyes still closed, music amplified by the sonic technology embedded in the walls. Several more notes escaped, lilting into the atmosphere.

This, too, was common, and usually relaxed the Doctor’s countenance far more than any meditation. The music, Aurik found, was actually enjoyable; it streamed along from one melody to the next, a soothing ebb and flow of sound. He didn't know much about humans, but if they had invented an instrument such as this, then surely there must be something worthwhile on the planet.

Three songs later, and Aurik decided to go for it.

“...Sir?”

When he wanted to speak with the Doctor, he had to get the timing just perfect. Tactless as ever, it had taken him several tries, but finally...

The music didn't stop, and the Doctor’s eyes didn't open, yet Aurik was acknowledged. “This better be important, Cadet.”

Success.

“I was just wondering what today's meeting was about.”

The Doctor sighed, his music falling to its conclusion. “And this is your business, because…?”

“Curiosity?” Aurik tried and failed not to squirm. “That’s not a bad thing, is it, sir?”

“Coming from you, maybe.”

“Sir…”

Yet another sigh from the Doctor. “Why does it matter?”

Aurik spoke as steadily as he could, trying to suppress his sudden thrill of victory, “There’ve been...rumors, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Of Gallifrey’s...potential return.”

“Return? It's already back,” the Doctor deflected. 

“Yes, but…” Aurik sucked in a breath and plowed through the rest. “Word ‘round the tower is that Gallifrey might be returning to its original location. Back to the universe.”

The Doctor plucked a harsh cord on his guitar, the note coarsely snapping through the air.

“Are the rumors true, sir?” Aurik had to know.

“ _No_."

His voice rumbled like thunder, eyes flaring like lightning as they shot up to face Aurik. _No_ seemed to slither about the room, crawl beneath furniture, whisper eerily behind shoulders. It coursed through Aurik’s bloodstream, the sole source of his now rapidly beating hearts. He was brought to life and stilled at once.

Curiosity continued to itch at his brain, causing his mouth to twitch with unasked and sure to be unanswered questions, but just as he was regaining himself enough to hopefully try again, a new voice paraded its way into the room.

“He means _yes_ , the rumors are true, but _no_ , he’ll never let it happen.”

Suave and impeccable as ever, in stepped Irving Braxiatel, otherwise known as the second most dangerous man on the planet. Or possibly tied. Or possibly the first.

“Brax,” the Doctor greeted, voice wavering in its annoyance. He always did this, bounce between annoyance and gratitude at Brax’s visits. Bounced between annoyance and gratitude with anyone remotely kind, actually.

That isn't to say Brax was kind, even in the broadest sense of the word. Though he had long since retired from any form of Gallifreyan politics, his shadow still loomed over every proceeding, the only looming shadow that the Doctor had yet to extinguish. He was the center of a web woven entirely by others without their realizing they'd been given any thread. In some cases, the individuals didn't even know Brax - somehow, they ended up acting according to his will anyway.

Incidentally, he was the Doctor’s older brother.

“Thete,” Brax responded. _Thete_ , a shortened version of _Theta Sigma_ , had startled Aurik the first time he'd heard it, for he’d only ever known the Doctor to go by a title. The Doctor, in turn, had rushed to explain; Theta Sigma had apparently been his old nickname at the Academy. Brax simply had yet to let it die.

“He's too stubborn,” Brax spoke to Aurik now. “Always has been. Self-indulgent, too, now more so than ever.”

“ _Brax_." Evidently, the Doctor had decided on annoyance.

“A wonderful name, to be certain. Please do continue repeating it.” Brax sent a wink Aurik’s way, who began wondering if he himself was part of this man’s web without even realizing.

“What're you doing here?” the Doctor asked, eyebrows working on the double in their jagged, impatient thickness.

“I thought you appreciated our talks, Theta.” Brax’s eyebrows, as if in response to the Doctor’s, were thin streaks of all-too patient darkness.

“Not when you clearly have an ulterior motive.”

“I always have an ulterior motive, and it's never clear.”

“Oh, so you're saying I _never_ enjoy our talks? Good to know; I was wondering where all these scowls kept coming from.” In direct contrast to his words, hints of a smirk were wriggling at the corners of the Doctor’s lips.

“I think your face is just built that way.” Brax was grinning ear to ear, all smarmy and pompous.

This balancing act between the two was par for the course. Brax employed every degree of external bombasticism and internal reserve to chess-play the Doctor into cracking a smile. He would never admit it, but it was the happiest Brax had ever been manipulating someone.

“You do realize,” said a not quite as cold Doctor, “that in the span of one minute, you've managed to slap the word _I_ into fifty percent of your speech. Telling, the way we use words.”

“ _I_ fail to see an issue,” Brax chirped. Judging from the Doctor’s borderline amusement, neither could he.

“Now,” said Brax, tone failing to change in spite of the topic swerve, “we need to discuss Gallifrey, Theta.”

Any joviality the Doctor had accumulated instantly fell to the wayside. “I've already discussed it. It's done.”

“In the language of the irreparably obtuse, _no_ ,” teased his brother. It wasn't working this time; the Doctor was full-on scowl once more. 

“Takes one to know one.”

“Childish! How ironic, given the color of your hair.”

While the Doctor was busy pouting in a most unpresidential way, Brax turned to Aurik. “A moment, if you please?”

It wasn't a request, but Aurik had never been one for subtleties, having only just now begun to pick up on the Doctor’s.

“I’d like to stay, if that isn't a problem…?”

“Oh, it is, so do please make yourself scarce. Now now, don't look like that; I _did_ say please. Besides, it's in everyone’s best interest if my brother and I discuss matters alone.”

Brax let his words sashay about the air, twirling and simpering despite the clear order laced within. Aurik risked a glance at the Doctor, who spared him the tiniest of nods, and relented, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. You'll wait outside, then?” 

“Of course, sir.”

Aurik shuffled mournfully out, the doors falling closed behind him. Knowing the room was soundproof, he didn't bother listening in…

Except…

* * * 

“Alone at last.” 

“Certainly looks that way, but there's always a chance I've got a hidden pet. Might've started working on K-10 for all you know.”

“A shame I already invented Ks ten through fifteen. Feel free to get to work on sixteen, though.” Brax began to stroll about the room. “ _But_ , back to business, I’m afraid.”

He stopped directly in front of the Doctor, swiveling on his heels to face his younger brother.

“Gallifrey…”

“...is actually rather dull, but I've made my fair share of improvements lately.” 

“I'll grant you the point of dullness,” said Brax, undeterred. “Even so, you must admit things would be far more lively were we to return.”

“Why?” The Doctor peered up at Brax through tired, half-lidded eyes. “You lot never did anything before, aside from that one little war...what was it? Oh, I'm sure it doesn't matter.”

Brax shook his head in mild patronization. “That wouldn't happen this time. Not if _you_ represented us.”

“I've made a lot of enemies, Brax.”

“Friends, too. You were the sole representative of the Time Lords for so long; the universe might be willing to listen.”

“...And didn't you used to be our ambassador? Back in the glory days?” By his tone, the Doctor used the term _glory_ rather loosely.

“Yes, back then. But the universe - _our_ universe, not this ridiculous pocket one you've frozen us in - doesn't know me anymore. We've been time-locked for far too long, Doctor. You're the only one they could ever begin to trust.”

“Fair point,” said the Doctor, eyes impossibly narrow. “But what does it matter to you?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Brax dodged cavalierly.

The Doctor snorted. “I already do. Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Out with it, then. What's my villainous plot?”

Always one for dramatics, the Doctor reveled in a small pause before answering, “Your Collection.”

The Braxiatel Collection had been, in its ever-existent prime, the ultimate showcase of art. Located on asteroid KS-159, it was a meticulously maintained celebration of historical creativity that Brax had effortlessly managed to run alongside a constantly demanding political career without so much as breaking a sweat.

It also happened to be distinctly illegal, and very much a secret.

“My Collection?” Brax drawled, like he was mulling the answer over. “I could see it. Sounds like me, wanting to get out just so I have access to more art. My entire gallery is back in the proper universe; it only makes sense I'd want to return.”

At the Doctor’s disgruntled look, Brax chuckled. “Mmm, did you want to explain it? My apologies. I'll offer you a consolation prize in that your theory was actually rather good. I'm impressed, young Theta.”

To Brax, it seemed nothing more than a playful remark. He knew words, knew the power and impact of every syllable he uttered. His little quip should have been nothing more than faintly irksome banter to the Doctor. Nothing of potency.

Thus why, when the Doctor seemed to shift to another plane of reality, Brax knew something had gone wrong.

“Theta? Have you malfunctioned?” tried Brax, who only liked silences when he was the one imposing them.

The Doctor blinked himself out of the nonexistent realm his eyes had previously been taking in, gaze zeroing in on Brax.

“Young?” he echoed Brax’s jibe.

“Yes, did you forget your status as the _younger_ brother?” Brax, for once in his life, couldn't tell where this was going, but he wasn't about to lose footing.

“Young…” whispered the Doctor, the words skipping right off him. He frowned up at Brax, appearing as though he couldn't place this foreign entity before him.

Brax, with years of mastermind puppetry under his belt, was able mask any remote signs of discomfort. “Care to elaborate?”

A detached, disbelieving grin wavered on the Doctor’s face, like it wasn't sure it belonged.

“...Four and a half billion years…”

The words drifted _up, up, up_ and _out, out, out,_ making the large chamber suddenly feel very small. Brax found himself pressing against the doors in an attempt at putting some distance between himself and the Doctor, whose next word fluttered out like bittersweet butterflies.

“Braxiatel...leave.”

As Irving Braxiatel walked numbly down the hall but a moment later, it occurred to him that this was the first time he could ever recall not having the words.

Dimly, he realized he didn't care.

* * *

Aurik glanced uncertainly from the shrinking form of Brax to the wooden blue doors clamped firmly shut behind him, bouncing on his heels in a state of nervous energy. A sick, twisty sort of feeling wriggled and squiggled in his gut, and his mouth felt a little too dry for comfort.

The new guard, having come to replace the unfortunate soul from before, glanced at Aurik in bewilderment.

“All right?” she probed, eyes wide.

“Mmm? Yes, f-fine,” Aurik managed.

“...Shouldn't you be in there?” She gestured behind them with her thumb. 

“Yes. Yes, I should.” And that was his decision made, really, though he wasn't sure going through with it would be the best course of action. He had a feeling worming around that he _should_ go in, but everything got all jumbled up in his mind. _Should_ he? Really?

But the Doctor was alone, which would never do, and Aurik’s veins were pulsing with curiosity. Right. Yes. He should definitely go in.

He entered, sparing more than a few thoughts as to the necessity of his presence, whether he wasn't just making things worse. Seeing his not-so friendly superior, poised in seat and regarding Aurik carefully, only served to further incite worry.

The Doctor appeared to be waiting for something, but when whatever it was failed to transpire, he spoke up.

“Question for me, Cadet?”

At this, Aurik received all the permission he needed. He blurted, “Was I meant to hear all of that, sir?”

“Of course you were.” The Doctor waved an ambivalent hand. 

“Why...?”

He frowned. “Don't you wanna know _how?_ ”

Aurik frowned too, considering himself for a moment, then replied, “No, sir.”

“You just want to know why?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmmm…” The Doctor strummed his fingers on his desk. Aurik stood at full attention before him.

“It was the sonic technology,” he said at last. “I wired it to your helmet one day when I was bored and you were preoccupied. All it takes is a little mental activation from me, and…”

The rest weaved directly into Aurik’s ear. “ _...presto. See? Magician!_ "

The Doctor snapped his fingers, and the deed was undone. “Abracadabra!”

“Very interesting, sir, but…” Aurik hesitated with the rest.

“Out with it, Cadet.”

He gulped. “You didn't answer my question.”

“There you go. Congratulations on your ability to form a coherent thought.”

After a brief lapse during which nothing occurred, Aurik hazarded a cautious, “Still didn’t answer my question, sir.”

The Doctor’s lips curved minutely upward. “Starting to get the hang of it, are we?”

Timidly, Aurik nodded.

“Good on you, Cadet. Makes me wish I could give you that answer you must be dying for.”

“You can't?!” It came out before Aurik could stop it. He coughed and hastily added, “Sir.”

“Clearly not. I just _said_ that, didn't I? Keep up!”

A treasure trove of questions was unlocking in Aurik’s brain, but he was a little too addled to single one out amongst the masses, not to mention nervous about the propriety of said questions. Here was the Doctor, this blundering force of energy (more energy than he'd ever granted to Aurik in the past, mind), and Aurik was beginning to truly feel like a cadet again.

“Go on. Ask me something, Cadet. You reek of questions, and I suppose I owe you one after the blatant not-answer I just gave you.”

Aurik shifted in place, still incredibly unsure, but the Doctor’s prodding was doing its trick. He tried harder to narrow in on something to ask, finally presenting, “Why don't you want Gallifrey to come back?”

This new train of topic was random even to Aurik, who had been leaning toward _Why can’t you answer me?_ The other question had simply strutted out of his mouth, unprompted and unannounced, tossing its coat off with a flourish.

Something fiery torched across the Doctor’s face before dying, like a shooting star. _Wrong_ , thought Aurik in a flurry of panic. _I got it wrong. One chance, and I blew it. I blew it I blew it I blew it I--_

“Shut up, Cadet.”

“Sorry?!”

“All that internalized dread. _Shut it up_. Or say it out loud. But if you're planning on keeping it all in, then just dispose of it. Won't do you any good trapped inside of you like that.”

“Y-Yes, sir?” That seemed appropriate. He hoped.

“Again with the sir nonsense,” the Doctor grumbled. “How can you try so hard to appease people yet fail to follow the most basic of requests?”

“Sorry, s--” Oh. How to finish?

“Doctor is just fine,” said the Doctor, as if in answer to Aurik’s thoughts.

“Sorry, Doctor.”

The Doctor harrumphed. “Better. Now, about your question…”

Aurik hadn't been expecting an answer, so he couldn't help but lean in eagerly at the knowledge he may receive one.

“I can't answer that either.”

His inhibitions failed him once more with a blunt, “ _What?_ ”

A grimy, wobbling chortle escaped the Doctor, little twinkles flickering and instantly snuffing out within his eyes. “That, Cadet, is what we call humor. Learn to love it.”

Aurik gaped at the Doctor before slowly letting his mouth close. “Oh. Er...oh.” A small, belated laugh finally came.

“Now, the real answer,” said the Doctor at last. “Tell me; what are the people like on Gallifrey? In your opinion?”

While previously Aurik had been wringing his hands with mounting nerves, he now fell motionless. All of his processes were dedicated to the Doctor’s inquiry, desperate to get the answer right. He could easily be likened to a child tasked with some all-important duty, puffed up with this badge of grownup-ness and necessity.

He spoke at last, coated with trepidation, “Well, sir--”

“ _Doctor_.”

Aurik started, high on apprehension. “D-Doctor!”

“Better, Cadet.” The Doctor gestured with his hand for Aurik to continue. 

“W-Well…” He hesitated.

“Go on…”

“I-I think...the Time Lords...are a bit...quiet.”

This piqued the Doctor’s interest. A crooked eyebrow arched dubiously up into his forehead as he awaited elaboration. To his dismay, Aurik was a bit too antsy to provide any. Silence stretched.

“Cadet? Are you trying to be mysterious or something? Don't bother; it only works for me.”

He wanted to answer, truly, but the words globbed into an ugly ball within his throat. Aurik had shared this observation before, two or three times, and no one ever received his explanation with anything less than a pure lack of understanding - at their worst, they wrinkled their noses in distaste at his words, told him to _hush_ and that he _should be ashamed of such talk_.

That last bit had been courtesy of his parents. Needless to say, he wasn't inclined to share the same observations with the most powerful man on Gallifrey.

But said most powerful man was more perturbed by the lack of an answer. 

“Cadet! _Cadet!_ If you expect me to tell you anything, you've got to _engage_. Haven't you ever heard of a Q and A? The Socratic method?”

Aurik hadn't heard of either of those things, but the Doctor's point stood.

“Er...it's just...they sort of…”

“I haven't got all day, you know.”

Aurik sighed and pushed forth, “Time Lords...they're all a bit...they just don't talk that much.”

He paused and gauged the Doctor's reaction. To Aurik’s great and pleasant surprise, there wasn't a hint of annoyance at all. The Doctor actually appeared...curious. He was _listening_.

The encouragement helped Aurik expand, “They - They talk _about things_ , like the weather or buildings or...I don't know...but it's never really - they just aren't open. They don't talk _to_ each other. Not about big stuff. Nothing's different; it's like they're all saying the same stuff.”

“Oh?” was all the Doctor said. Aurik wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or not.

“Y-Yes, sir. Er, Doctor.”

“Hmmm.”

For the next minute or so, nothing happened. The two of them simply existed beneath blue hues of light, each lost in throes of contemplation. Contemplating each other, actually. Uneasiness burbled up in Aurik, alongside some other feeling. Intrigue, perhaps. Uneasiness and intrigue.

Just as he was beginning to crack, was about to speak up and spit out vast arrays of apologies, the Doctor beat him to the punch.

“You're right.”

Aurik blanched, “Huh?” 

The Doctor sighed and placed his forehead in his hand. “ _You’re right_ , Cadet. Do I need a translator, or are you just deaf?”

“N-No, sir, I just…” _Huh???_

“Don't bother speaking if you aren't planning to finish your thought. I've never been partial to cliffhangers.”

This had started off the first time anyone had asked Aurik that particular question, then evolved to the first time anyone had listened respectfully to his answer, and now finally - _miraculously_ \- it was the first time anyone had ever agreed with him. Had said he was _right_.

Aurik had never been told he was right before. He hadn't a clue what to do next.

Luckily, the Doctor appeared to be more than well-equipped with the words. He stood up with his arms behind his back, for once looking distinguished and composed, like he belonged.

“You’re right,” the Doctor repeated steadily, the words still ringing in Aurik’s ears. “And you would've been years ago too, had you said the same thing.”

The Doctor grimaced, considering, then spoke up again, “Have time for a field trip?”

“Yes, sir,” escaped without a moment’s hesitation.

“Good, then let’s go meet the locals.”

* * *

Vast, burnt orange skies galloped impressively above the land. Below these, golden towers stretched farther upward than one might think imaginable - or necessary, if unfamiliar with the ways of this planet. A dome had once encapsulated these towers, but it had long since been destroyed, shattered into nothingness; young boys and girls for centuries had enjoyed seeking out yet-to-be found shards. They were remnants of an old age, a different age. One where it was perfectly acceptable to build giant domes separating the “civil” from the “savage.”

But that age was slowly deteriorating. Had been for years. Success was for everyone who worked toward it now. Equal opportunity for all.

According to the Doctor, however, this was far from true.

They walked side by side on the outskirts of the Citadel, where large, ostentatious buildings transitioned into smaller, cozier establishments tucked in blankets of plantation and silver-leaved trees. Neat little tracks cut across fields of red grass, glowing white shuttles zipping by from time to time to make their stops. Smooth platinum walkways gleamed beneath the sunlight and connected everything.

“I've done what I can,” the Doctor sighed, commenting on it all. “I haven't always liked this job - actually, I've never liked it, but I've done what I can.”

“And you've done quite well, sir,” said Aurik.

This was the general consensus amongst those of the Drylands (a name that had once been apt but would soon be rendered obsolete, only sticking around because society couldn't be bothered to change it). Aurik himself had been born to a more privileged family, but he had mind enough to know a good thing when he saw it, and he'd made friends in military school who spoke wonders of recent progress.

The Doctor shook his head. “Not well enough. You can never do well enough with the Time Lords.”

Aurik glanced curiously up at his superior. “Why?” 

Gratefully, the Doctor was actually being quite receptive to questions, which until now had been a foreign concept to Aurik. A foreign concept peeled straight from his dreams.

“You said it yourself, didn't you? They aren't open. They're Time Lords, all haughty and self-important. It's innate.”

A thought occurred to Aurik then. “Sir - er, Doctor?”

“Cadet?”

“Um,” - how to put this? - “why _they?_ ”

“I'm sorry?” The Doctor squinted down uncomprehendingly at Aurik, who could only offer an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry, I just...you always say ‘they’ when you talk about the Time Lords, but...but _we’re_ the Time Lords.”

Abruptly, like a power outage, the Doctor halted in his tracks. Aurik, who had fallen behind a bit, bumped into his unmoving form, failing to elicit even the slightest of flinches.

“I...never thought about that. It always came naturally.”

After allowing a few seconds to pass, the Doctor chuckled ruefully at his own words. “That really answers everything, doesn't it?”

“If it helps,” Aurik risked, feeling as though he were treading unmarked terrain, “I've still got plenty to ask.”

The Doctor blinked, surprise briefly flickering across his face. In lieu of anything else to do, Aurik scratched the back of his neck in anticipation.

Finally, “You're not completely unbearable, Cadet. I thought you were, but you're not.”

A bashful blush colored Aurik's cheeks. “Th-Thank you. Sir. Um, Doctor. Er--”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Their stroll continued. Small crunches broke into the air as they stepped through fallen leaves of silver and scarlet blades of glass. Gusts of wind danced mirthfully through the sky, and the Doctor lifted up a hand, feeling the breeze run through his fingers, eyes tracing its rustling path through the trees.

“Cadet…” Rivulets of fascination hurried up Aurik’s spine.

“Yes, sir?”

“The Time Lords aren't good people.”

The Doctor's march continued forward without ceasing, so Aurik forced his own to do the same. He listened with bated breath.

“It's always all or nothing. Either they completely detach themselves, or they're off declaring _war_. Every time. And a skirmish isn't enough! It _has_ to be a full-blown, universe-scale _Time War_ , with the fates of everyone and everything in the balance! Because _of course_ it does.”

The Doctor stopped, swung around on his heels, and foisted his hands in front of him. “Look, Cadet.”

Aurik did as he was told. Before him was the Citadel they'd long since left behind, grand towers and all. Though the Drylands had developed into their own spectacle, those skyscrapers of shining gold would always stand above everything, beacons of success. They were the winners of Gallifrey.

“Oh,” was all Aurik said. For once, it was all that felt necessary.

The Doctor nodded. “Yup.”

And then, simple as breathing, he turned his back. Aurik only spared one more glance before following suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand done. Was it any good? Let me know! Or not. I get time constraints and all. :)


	3. Seasons Come and Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!!! Haha, not as a long a wait this time. Unfortunately, I come with a shorter chapter, and the formatting is a little different. I covered more time this way, but if you prefer things a little more drawn out, less snippet-y, then I apologize. This is full of snippets, but I hope they're good snippets! :)

When Auriktarsonitonwellxinisonmanuke, Aurik for short, arrived home after yet another day of “assisting” the Doctor, everything appeared normal. And for the most part, everything stayed that way.

That was the problem. That was always the problem.

Aurik lived in an apartment complex. Of course, on Gallifrey, “apartment complexes” were defined as tall structures whose apartments themselves were all bigger on the inside, growing larger and larger the higher up one went and each at least being the size of a small house. At least.

His complex was bronze in color, and he lived toward the top, in the gray area between the middle of the tower and its upper region. As such, his living quarters were the size of a miniature mansion, give or take a few thousand acres. Aurik stepped into his home now, gently shrugging his coat off and placing it on a rack by the door. The ornate, gilded door.

“Mother?” he called. “Father?” His voice echoed dully. Right then. He was alone. Or receiving the cold shoulder for whatever reason. His parents were never noisy in their anger.

A peculiar, weighted kind of illness tickled at his throat for a second. He coughed, cleared it. Called out again.

“ _Hello?_ I'm home!”

Nothing.

He really hoped the house was empty.

* * *

The Doctor scanned everyone at the roundtable in the span of one glance. It didn't take much more to get the gist of what all was going on here.

In the corner stood their server, who was currently pursuing a relationship with Lord Cardinal Srya in an attempt to climb the ranks. To his left, a good distance down the table, was the Castellan, who was banging on about how beneficial Gallifrey’s return would be for their society as a whole. Were he being honest, he would admit that he just wanted to kickstart a skirmish with some other race; being in charge of the army as he was could hardly be considered relevant in a pocket universe. But he wasn't being honest. Naturally.

Directly across from the Doctor was the Lady Chancellor. She had killed three people to get that position. He had chosen her because at least she'd killed people he hadn't liked. If he liked anyone on this planet.

The Doctor didn't bother to conceal a long, worn sigh, like letting loose a puff of cigarette smoke. Some things never changed.

* * *

Their field trips, the Doctor and Aurik’s, had become more and more frequent. The Doctor took Aurik to this fancy restaurant that higher up patrons loved to, get this, _patronize_. The two of them spent a good deal of time chuckling away at their little pun. The jokes were growing in frequency too.

The Doctor didn't eat, but he bought Aurik a hefty amount of food, who subsequently balked at what he considered an unnecessary gesture. His protests hadn’t led anywhere, so he proceeded to force some food on the Doctor in his own stammering way. To appease his offended young companion, the Doctor pretended to nibble at a pastry, spitting it out when Aurik was not-so casually gaping at a pretty little waitress.

It felt good, lying to a companion again.

Aurik filled a lot of the conversation with his seemingly inane babble about life and Gallifrey and what he thought the universe, the proper one, must be like. At the meaningful look Aurik was sending his way, spurred on by that last topic, the Doctor quickly reaffirmed mental barriers. It hadn’t felt _that_ good.

* * *

Their conversations, the Doctor and Brax’s, were becoming less and less frequent. They each tried to lay the mortar, extend olive branches, but neither could fight against the gravity that gripped hold whenever they so much as shook hands.

“You haven't eaten,” Brax mentioned one evening in the Doctor’s private chamber, motioning to an untouched bowl of soup. 

“I hate soup,” said the Doctor simply, currently finicking with his spoon in an attempt to make it sonic. “Makes me sick.”

“Okay,” said Brax. He didn't say much as of late.

They went back to being quiet. Fifteen minutes in, and the Doctor abruptly stood, swooping up his bowl.

Brax arched an eyebrow. “Done?” It came close to their old sarcastic pattern, but not quite. Not quite.

The Doctor didn't answer, pacing irately, staring a bit too hard at his bowl. He stopped, started, stopped, started, stopped. Then, without so much as a word, he turned the bowl upside down. Watched its liquid contents fall to the floor. 

His eyes gleamed, and Brax opened and closed his mouth around words that never came.

“I hate soup,” said the Doctor again.

“Okay,” said Brax.

The mess was left unclean.

* * *

Aurik felt like he was suffocating. He was at his own dinner table, and he felt like he was suffocating.

The table was sleek, black, rectangular, and it nearly reached from wall to wall of the family dining room. Aurik sat at one extreme. His parents, the other.

He could feel their glares anyway, tiny sharp darts of reproach. The ticklish sensation crept up again, so he coughed. His parents didn't respond.

“Er--” he blundered, red-faced. No response.

Okay. That was okay. He repeated this to himself over and over again, all the way into the night. Let it guide him up the stairs, to his bed. Let it begin lulling him to sleep. _Just let it go..._

He couldn't. Instead, he ventured downstairs. Found his parents. Asked them as politely as he could what was wrong.

Finally, they gave him an answer.

* * *

“You're being unusually silent, Cadet,” the Doctor remarked. It was the next day, and he'd taken Aurik out into the midst of the Citadel. Busy streets, shuttles hurrying past, little children struggling not to trip in their long robes. Order even in the hustle and bustle. The sky seemed so much further away from here.

“Sorry!” Aurik jumped, wringing his hands.

The Doctor's face became especially wrinkled. “Jumpy, too.”

“I-I just...I…” Aurik gulped. “Sorry, sir.”

“Doctor.”

“Right! Yes. My apologies, sir.” Aurik wasn't even aware of his mistake. More wrinkles for the Doctor.

“So.” The Doctor kept one eye on Aurik as he nodded toward a couple strolling across the street from them, the woman toting a child. “You see those two over there? Complete political alliance of a marriage. Can't tell by the smiles or the words - that's all good. Rehearsed. But note how they handle the little one.”

Aurik tried to pay attention. He forced his attention on the couple, with whom the Doctor’s point was proving itself. Yes, the woman was rocking the baby, but her movements were...mechanical. Stiff. Awkward. Going through the motions.

And the father. The father. He smiled down at his wife and baby, but his eyes didn't appear to register either of them. He was robotic, following a script. Smiling for the camera.

It struck something within Aurik. He blinked up at the Doctor, fumbling with what to say. “Why - Why do people do these things, sir? Doctor?”

The Doctor didn't need clarification. His eyes darkened, drawing further into the shadows that permanently tainted them these days.

He had his answer ready, “Because they aren't people. They're monsters. Want to go anywhere in life, Cadet? Learn the difference.”

Aurik looked back at the couple. “All of them?” His voice cracked. He imagined the baby growing up in that family. An all-too familiar picture immediately sprang to mind.

“All of them who act like _that_ ,” the Doctor spat disdainfully.

“How...” Aurik hated his throat for tangling everything up. “...do we - do we stop them?”

The Doctor didn't say anything, only stuffed one hand in the pocket of his hoodie. Moments later, he withdrew a blaster.

Wait.

Both the Doctor and Aurik were wearing perception filters to escape public notice, which meant no could see it. No one could see how he stroked the blaster, treated it like some precious ruby. No one could see how he appeared lost in the most fanciful of daydreams, or how his mouth split into something resembling a smile.

No one except Aurik.

“ _Sir!"_ his voice reacted before his brain did. It was instinctual. “ _What are you--?_ ”

“Oh, quiet,” the Doctor hushed him, sounding annoyed. “I won't do it now. I was just showing you, since you asked and all. Later on, when I get around to it, I suppose I'll summon them. They'll be so _excited_ , the idiots. Won't suspect a _thing_. Too focused on some potential promotion. Idiots.”

He continued to stroke the weapon and elaborate on his plot, “No one will mind, or if they do, it won't matter. _I’m_ Lord President; it's within my right to hold executions. So like I said, I'll just call them up and--”

“ _Stop!”_ Aurik shouted, willing to do anything to make him stop. “Sir, they have a child. A _child_.”

The Doctor frowned, perplexed. He actually appeared young for a moment.

“Won't it be kinder,” he began, “to spare the child a life with that couple? To give it a chance with someone else? Someone better?”

To the Doctor, it seemed logical. To Aurik, it felt horrid. 

“I-I...Doctor..." Aurik shook his head. Just kept shaking his head.

“What? How is it wrong?”

Aurik thought about it. Searched himself. Ran over the Doctor's words his mind, analyzing them. This felt so much bigger than it already was, somehow. Like he was negotiating a trans-universal ceasefire.

He spoke at last, words broken and soar, “...I don't know.”

The Doctor snorted. “And?”

“I don't know.” Aurik shifted on his feet. “I don't know any of the _why’s_ , not like you do. I just - I know it's wrong. Can't explain it, sir, but I know.”

The Doctor studied Aurik, not saying a word. Neither did Aurik. They just stood there. Citizens hurried all around, preoccupied with their business. Oblivious.

Slowly, the Doctor shoved the blaster back in his pocket. He rolled his eyes.

“I finally make nice with a soldier, and you're not even a good one.” He jerked his neck in the direction of Aurik’s apartment complex. “Go home, Cadet. We’re done here.”

When Aurik left, doing as he was told, there truly was no one around to see. Not a sole witness to the Doctor's face. Its expression.

“What did I…almost do…?” 

He started toward his own home, hands still itching for that blaster. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, but he decided not to indulge them. Just for tonight.

* * *

Aurik was back home. He called to his parents again, waiting for a reply that never came. It appeared they'd given all the answers they were planning to.

He let out a shaky breath, made his way to his room. Changed out of his robes into something more comfortable.

He stared at the red fabric in his hands after removing it. Thinking. Just thinking. The robes felt soft like they never had before.

 _Why don’t they?_ he wondered. _Why don’t they feel soft?_ He played with it in his hands, allowing his mind to drift.

A few hours later, he was beckoned down to another long dinner.

 _Why don’t they?_ he was still thinking. And that was the thought that carried him through dinner this time, up the stairs, to bed. That was the thought that failed to lull him into sleep. 

When he awoke the next morning, a new thought had come. One that would carry him indefinitely from there on out.

_How can I make them?_

* * *

The Doctor was in another meeting. The server’s relationship with Cardinal Srya had gone up in smoke, so he'd begun ingratiating himself with Cardinal Inda. Cardinal Inda was too busy plotting how to get her bill passed to notice. Her bill that would siphon money and streamline it to suit her faction’s whims.

The Lord Burner, he could tell, had been used to erase about five citizens from history. This wasn't such an awful blow, as the Doctor considered them all monsters, but still. He'd have to track down the perpetrator, think up some clever punishment.

The Chief Treasurer began droning on about the budget, as if they weren't hideously rich. Everyone at the table nodded, at least pretending to be invested. Some sickos actually were.

Oh, how the Doctor craved his blaster.

* * *

White surrounded him. White walls, white machinery, white everything. The Doctor blinked hastily, took a breath. He looked toward the door at the other side of the room. Took another breath.

Everything glowed a little too brightly. Unnatural. Surreal. It was sickening.

It was the answer to everything.

His hearts thumped dangerously inside him as he cautioned a step. One step. Paused. Another. Let the process take him all the way to the far end of the room. To the door. He placed a hand on it.

So easy...it would be so easy…he wanted it so bad…

A loud crash thundered. A bloodcurdling scream rocketed through his ears. Many bloodcurdling screams. Then, just blood itself. Staining the floors, the walls.

He could silence one of them. One of those screams. He could save someone. Time could be rewritten, and his ears would be the slightest bit spared when he closed his eyes.

All he had to do was open the door. 

But he couldn't. Idiot. And he’d left his blaster back in his quarters, so no executions either.

Idiot. He was an idiot. Without a box, this time.

* * *

Aurik had been doing a lot of reading. About other planets. Other cultures, other races. Different worldviews, moral codes, governments. There was one planet shrouded in black fog with scarlet rivers that operated solely under anarchy. It sounded like chaos to Aurik, absolute chaos, but it was something different.

He was learning a lot of different things. Things no one had ever told him. Anarchy had been as distant to him as the mythical Toclafane for as long as he could remember. Now it felt a little more real, a little more solid.

For the very first time, the scope of the universe, its vastness and complexity, was beginning to dawn on Aurik. How much knowledge it contained, how many people thrived within it. He thought about every single race meeting up at some banquet hall that was as big as his imagination could make it, chatting and laughing and learning. There was peace. People were happy.

Aurik wanted to see that happen, and he wanted the Time Lords to be there too. Maybe they could bring a casserole or something. According to his books, that was an Earth tradition.

* * *

They were in the Doctor's chamber again. Aurik was reading, the Doctor himself meditating. Everything was quiet. It had been a while, but they settled back in easily enough.

Aurik waited, trying not to wonder what the Doctor had done to fill his time. He failed on the second account, but as for the first…

Guitar notes, skipping about the room. Patience was a virtue.

“Doctor,” he risked, stepping through his words like a minefield. No slip-ups. He couldn't afford them.

The Doctor, in contrast, merely grunted and kept playing. The melody was gruff at places, uncertain.

“I...want...to talk…”

The rough string of notes continued.

Aurik grasped his book tightly, drawing strength from it. “Doctor,” he said again, careful to avoid any accidental sir-ing.

The music finally stopped. The Doctor flipped his sunglasses up, taking them off and placing them on the table. His eyebrows were arched.

Aurik took it as an invitation. “Gallifrey. I-I want to talk about Gallifrey. Please.”

The Doctor just kept looking at him.

He just kept bumbling on, “I mean, I know we already _do_ , on our ‘field trips,’ as you call them.” Aurik remembered from a book that “field trip” was an Earthen expression. “But I mean about its...its current position.”

The Doctor said nothing, but Aurik was used to this. Hated it, panicked over it, but was used to it.

“We’re stuck,” he said. “You know we are. Nothing’s changed in years. We never learn. And I got to thinking, and I thought - I thought _how_ could we learn? How could we grow? And then I was reading, learning so much, and I thought maybe...maybe…”

This was the tough part. The part that might get him murdered, if the Doctor's recent actions were anything to go by.

“My books...they were about other planets. Our old universe.” It felt like an admission. Having been staring determinedly at the floor, he now carefully checked the Doctor’s expression. 

Stone-faced. He was talking to a wall.

But he continued stupidly anyway, “Doctor. _Doctor_. I felt something when I - when I read those books. Something _good_.”

Still nothing. Still he spoke, “And those were just words. Text. And I'm...I’m just one person. Imagine everyone on our planet - _everyone_ \- getting to _actually_ see the stars. Meet the other planets. Ex-Experience other - other cultures.”

The book felt glued to his sweaty palm. His superior suddenly didn't feel so superior.

“I...I think we might be able to learn. To grow. We just need a little nurturing.”

His words limped out of his mouth, heaved themselves out with an inner gumption even in their weakened little form.

Sitting before him, a stone wall.

“Get out.”

“W-What?”

“Get. Out. _Go_."

No. No no no no no. That wasn't how this was supposed to go...this wasn't the plan...this...this was wrong…

“Doctor--”

“Leave.” Aurik felt the words more than he heard them.

“I-I don't…”

“I’m ordering you. Leave. Now.”

Stupidly, ridiculously, Aurik felt hot tears sting at his eyes. He stumbled back toward the doors, blinking quickly.

The Doctor said nothing. Aurik was about to turn, when he had a thought. Another stupid, stupid thought.

But he couldn't help himself. He could never help himself.

“You'll - You'll be alone, sir,” he said.

The Doctor blanched. Actually blanched. His eyes were wide, reflective spheres of empty shock. Nothing more. He'd been taken aback.

“What?” There had never been a more applicable word.

“I--” Aurik bit his lip. “--you can't be alone, sir. You know that.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, nodding, brows furrowed. “Yes, I get that. But why do you…?”

The Doctor stood up. Gazed at Aurik with big blue eyes that looked uncertain as to where they were.

“Compassion?” asked the Doctor. “I just kicked you out...and you're showing me...compassion? You? A soldier?”

“Uh.” Aurik scratched one arm awkwardly. “Yes? I guess so? Sir.”

The Doctor nodded slowly, dumbly. 

“I used to get that, you know,” he whispered, voice so quiet. “I understood it. Lived by it.”

He averted eye contact, the next words coming out like a confession:

“I don't anymore...I don't understand compassion. It doesn't make sense like it used to.”

Aurik stayed long enough to catch that tiny, tiny fraction of time in which the Doctor’s eyes lost those shadows. A single, frozen millisecond of clarity before the darkness returned.

One week later, a rumor ran through the palace that Gallifrey was moving.

Two weeks later, it was announced.

A month later, preparations were being made.

Gallifrey was packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And welcome to the end; thanks for coming this far. Ten points to Gryffindor (or whatever your House; mine's Ravenclaw if you're interested. But that's a different fandom) if you can tell me why the Doctor despises soup so much. Because it's the little things that make me happy. :)


	4. Things Have Changed for Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of hate this chapter, kind of like it. Hopefully you'll be more inclined toward the latter. Apologies if it's the former, and for the rather short length of this. Thank you for awaiting this update patiently; it took me ages because I hadn't quite gotten to the action yet so I had to make it something other than pointless filler. 
> 
> Note: The General's still a guy in this. The Doctor never saves Clara, so he never shoots the General, so no regeneration. Just in can you guys were wondering. :)

Toward one end of the roundtable were two Cardinals and a very worn looking General. Toward the other, the Doctor sat with impatiently drifting eyes. A silent little war paced the length of the room, sharply inspecting its soldiers.

One end was about to break. The other wasn't.

“Lord President, with the highest respect imaginable, I _must_ advise that you indulge our concerns.”

Nothing from the Doctor. Because he hadn't been the one to break. Obviously.

Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskaninian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables, had been the one to speak. He felt a sense of failure coursing through his spirit but, as was his wont, spoke even louder than his norm to drown out the uncomfortable whimpering looping through his ears and out his glands via droplets of sweat.

The Doctor liked to call him Oreo.

“It is only a matter of opinion,” said Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskaninian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables. He said it louder still.

The Doctor idly wondered if the inventor of Oreos, Sam J. Porcello, had intended for the cookies to be eaten in a certain way, or if consumers were allowed to go nuts.

“Consider this,” persisted Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskanian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables. “We do not make our offer out of pity or, if one were so inclined to think, some perceived detriment to your character. Rather, our concern is one of practicality; can the esteemed Lord President of Gallifrey really be expected to travel alone?”

“Yes, he can. Because I said so. Now, if you would…” The Doctor feebly flitted his hand around as if swatting away at some fly.

Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskanian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables, did not think himself one to be swatted away. “But, Your Excellency, surely you don't expect to make a trans-planetary expedition - that spans _outside_ our own universe - without some form of companionship? The thought alone is ludicrous!”

“I traveled roughly thousands of years without any other Time Lords,” said the Doctor, tone leaking dryness. “Give or take a few four point five billion years.”

“Lord President--”

“You're fired.”

Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskanian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables, squeaked out a reply after a good few seconds of silence, “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Speak again and you're executed. Now walk out the door.”

It wasn't quite evident whether the Doctor was serious or not, but the General was nodding gravely, indicating that it would be best if the order were followed, so…

So Cardinal Orthensiskaturizziforshen, Speaker of All Eskanian Affairs, Maintainer of Space and All Its Cosmic Variables, waddled out of the room. His robes were perhaps a tad big for him.

“Well then--” The Doctor suddenly seemed all the more lively. “--meeting adjourned, I take it?”

The remaining Cardinal, who hadn't even gotten a chance to state his illustrious name and illustrious titles, tried to fight back the slightest of pouts.

The General sighed.

The Doctor left.

* * *

In the humble opinion of Auriktarsoniton-wellxinisonmanuke, Aurik for short, breaks didn't feel very much like breaks. Work was far more equipped to calm his nerves, offering quiet time in an environment that made him feel somewhat at ease. His company, too, was more tolerable there, which was truly a testament to Aurik’s not-so-pleasant free time, as his assigned companion wasn't exactly designed for friendliness. 

Unfortunately, his assigned companion was a tad preoccupied at the moment, what with Gallifrey’s return and all.

Aurik had initially been ecstatic at the news. Gallifrey? _Coming back?_ It had been as if every shooting star had conspired to deliver him this singular wish. So no, he hadn't been - and still wasn't - anything less than thrilled. The revival of Gallifrey could only mean wonders.

But his wish had been something of a double-edged sword; now he no job, or at least not much of one. Only home or whatever other haunts he could escape to.

Currently, Aurik was sitting in an unfrequented little dive he'd discovered a few years ago, nursing some strong Gallifreyan concoction. Patrons filtered in and out as the day slowly snuffed out into night, but Aurik remained, grimacing into his glass. The liquid contained within was faceless and black. So was, he expected, the night sky outside.

The dive in question was located in the farthest outskirts of the Drylands, where the landscape still partially fulfilled its barren title. Everything felt slower out here. It was a preserved remnant of different times that had stood the test of progression.

Still, through it all, everyone who entered the bar was celebrating, and everyone who exited was a stumbling mess of euphoria and liquor. Then there was Aurik, who simply remained in place, nestled in a booth in a dimly lit corner. None of the partiers paid him any mind. 

Aurik sighed. Took a sip of his drink. It tasted fine enough.

The current bar dwellers had taken up a bellowing belch of song:

_Gallifrey, oh Gallifrey!_

_We’re comin’ home, yessiree!_

_Gallifrey, oh Gallllliffrey!_

_All the stars we’re sure to see!_

_From ancient tomb of Rassilon_

_To the last ever star_

_We’ll roam in search of paradise_

_Find ourselves somewhere out far!_

_We’ll sing our merry way across_

_The constellations of our past!_

_Traipse atop forgotten grounds_

_To somewhere we can last!_

And so the song went, stinking up the air with the putrid stench of cavity. The singers happened to be regular attendees.

Aurik wondered what the Doctor was up to.

Probably plotting out some epic journey. Packing. Unraveling a twenty-dimensional model of the other universe, sticking pins in certain key points.

And here Aurik was. Nursing a drink. At least it was more alcoholic on the inside, but then he'd never been much of a drinker. Fretted too much over the loss of inhibitions. Yeah, Time Lords could shake the effects off quite easily, but still. The risk wasn't worth it.

Again, he wondered what the Doctor was up to.

_Gallifrey! Oh, Gallifrey!_

_We're coming home, yessiree!_

_Gallifrey! Oh Galllllifrey!_

_All the stars we’re sure to see!_

* * *

The General was speaking. The Doctor didn't feel as though he had much time for this.

“Surely,” the General was saying, voice a cross between pleading, exasperation, and one other thing the Doctor couldn't quite place. “Surely you can understand why it wouldn't be advisable to travel alone. And it isn't just that you're Lord President - you also happen to be discussing the return of our planet as a whole.”

“How is that any more dangerous than my entire life?” The Doctor reclined back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs.

The General placed a tired hand to his face. “Sir, with respect, our planet’s revival has potential to incite yet _another_ Time War. This situation requires delicacy.”

“So you're really just lucky I let this happen at all then, aren't you?” the Doctor retorted, loose threads of irritation pulling minutely at his subconscious.

“Indeed, sir, we are, but it's only natural to express concerns, most of which are well-founded--”

“Most? Come back to me when it's all. Now go. Off you pop!”

“ _Sir,_ " the General let his tone cave to gravity. “You know you can't travel alone.”

If the Doctor caught the solemnity, he clearly didn't think it worthy of attention. “And why not?” he posed flippantly, not even bothering to lift his eyes from whatever path of thought they were tracing.

Steadying himself, the General squared his shoulders and leveled the Doctor with a loaded stare - still, their eyes didn't meet.

“Doctor,” - and now, at that name, coming from that voice, the Doctor finally looked up - “how can you be expected to travel by yourself when - when you can't even stay in your _room_ alone without...”

The General slackened himself to the blatant truth of the matter and delivered the blow, “Without _unraveling,_ sir.”

A silence possessing such potency that it leeched off sound, drowning out the loudest of thunders and the faintest of pin drops.

Then, a voice strong enough to cut through it.

“ _Now?_ ” It was opaque. Musty. Chalk rumbling coarsely but purposefully across concrete. “You choose _now_. _Now_ you bother to--”

Tripping, tumbling, too many words and feelings and memories.

Stop. Breathe. Try again, “Why does it matter? Why _now_ , General?”

That strange, undefinable blip of existence returned, settling right into place within the General’s expression. “Lord President,” he started, remaining calm and firm. “You have to consider your health.”

The Doctor shrugged. “I gave up on that a long time ago. Even before the Great Dial Debacle.”

“Could you at least consider--”

“No.”

And really, thought the General, what could he say? That he knew what was best for the Doctor? In this instance, he did, but…

“You're a bit late,” commented the Doctor, “on the whole caring thing.”

That comment carried quite a lot.

The Doctor sighed, tilted his head back, turned his eyes upward in a silent plea for strength. He refocused on the General and tried to manufacture a sentence or two. Nothing came.

“I’m sorry,” said the General, unequivocally genuine.

The Doctor merely grimaced. Confusion flickered through his eyes for a brief second, but with a shake of the head it disappeared.

“I have work,” he said. It was as close as he could come to a gentle dismissal. The General nodded, mutter a “yes, sir,” and left. He didn't even bother to remind the Doctor of the impending isolation. It wasn't his place.

Instead, he called for Aurik. Somebody had to do the reminding.

* * *

Before the summons, Aurik had been dragging his feet back toward home. At its arrival, he took off in a hobbling gait toward the highest tower of the Citadel.

Now, he stood shiftily in the Doctor’s chamber, the man himself perusing a shelf, seeking out a book for Aurik in an attempt at returning to their former normalcy.

It was the first time they'd met up in months. This had affected both of them more than either would care to admit.

Aurik let his eyes wander around the room. For the most part, everything was more or less the same, but there had been a significant increase in scatterings of paper and discarded books jumbled messily on the wooden floor. Shattered tablets lay collected in a heap; one blood-tipped shard sat almost too fittingly on the Doctor’s desk.

Really, the true change existed within the Doctor.

He was paler. Gaunter. Haggard. His eyebrows were dramatically severe against his drained face. Even his manner, the very aura he gave off, came across as as nothing short of wild. The Doctor glided on his feet, never quite alighting on the ground, clasping and unclasping the palm of his left hand.

“Here.” He shoved a book into Aurik’s hand, hastily snapping around to some other object of his attention. Clasp.

Aurik tilted his head, eyes off the book. “...Sir?”

“Doctor,” corrected a distracted voice over the Doctor’s shoulder. Clasp. Unclasp. Clasp.

“ _Doctor_ , sorry.”

A grunt vaguely resembling approval. Unclasp. Clasp.

“How've you--” Aurik stammered. “What've you been...y’know...up to?”

The Doctor - clasp - turned back to Aurik. Unclasp. The pause before responding lasted a little too long. “What have I been… _up to?_ ”

“I mean, what’ve you, uh, been doing lately?” Aurik scratched the back of his neck.

Clasp. Unclasp. Clasp, unclasp, clasp. “...Resurrecting Gallifrey?” 

It felt rather like a slap. “Er, right, b-but I mean _how._ "

The Doctor now tilted his own head. “Starting where?”

Aurik needn't anymore prompting. His words fought to squeeze through his mouth all at once, “ _Where?_ Doctor, I - I want to know _everything._ Gallifrey is - it's coming _back_. Please tell me something, sir. Anything you can.”

This time, the pause lasted longer. A new, yet-to-be trekked road had clearly been paved since their last visit, and Aurik was struggling to find his footing. The Doctor gave off a more exposed, tumultuous energy than he had previously, resulting in the potential for numerous slip-ups.

Safe to say, it was a tad stressful. Clasp.

Seat remaining untouched, the Doctor rocked (unclasp, clasp) on his heels. Blinked.

Unclasp, “They want me to travel with someone.”

He wasn't sure why he said it, what made that particular statement more relevant than any other piece of information. Why it was necessary to tell Aurik.

Aurik hadn't any of those answers either, and this wasn't exactly knowledge he'd been desperate to have. Still, he kept his eyes accepting, let his head partake in the slightest of encouraging nods.

“Several someones, possibly,” the Doctor said, committing to his topic. “If they can get me to agree.”

Aurik leaned in without noticing. “...And?”

“I can't listen to them. Can't bring myself.” The Doctor regarded Aurik for a moment. “You?”

In contradiction to his entire life, Aurik felt little hesitation in confessing, “I can't be around them.”

The ever-elusive “they” was layered with meaning between the Doctor and Aurik. Like code, or a language breathed by select few. It could be, and mostly was, anything and everything that existed outside. An identity only revealed to those who could truly feel the quiet of Gallifrey.

Right now, there was quiet, but it was a quiet without form. It stole no space in choked up throats, shaking palms, stern glares. Only existing as long as was allowed.

They continued in their conversation, the Doctor and Aurik. Somewhere in the midst of it all, it was agreed they would travel together, just the two of them, Aurik a delighted mess and the Doctor fumbling with a little too much. Somewhere in the midst, each of them could feel burdens relieving just so from their backs. Somewhere, fledgling excitement took form, new and vulnerable and out of place.

But none of that can truly be translated. Only known by those who've felt the quiet.

* * *

Eight months forward and a whole universe away, lights came on for the first time in relative centuries. They spread across a metallic floor, rustic bookshelves, an old, blank chalkboard, some round things of questionable use.

In the center, a console stood proud.

Suddenly, a whirring. wheezing, whooshing energy sounded across the room. Something - known well to some as a time rotor - began rising and falling at the center of the room.

Oh the outside, unnoticed by passersby, a blue police box vanished from thin air.

One person, not a passerby, did notice. The very same person knew that this wasn't actually a blue police box, but rather a TARDIS. The key to every imaginable occurrence in every imaginable time period on every imaginable planet. 

The key to, quite possibly, her demise. Something she hadn’t imagined in years.

Having known for a long time this possibility existed, she went about her business as usual. It was only a matter of time now.

* * *

Officials and soldiers all stood rapt in two rows across from each other, forming a straight pathway that started with one door and ended with another. Inside the first, the Doctor let out a light, sudden sigh.

“She's home,” he breathed, for the thought itself was enough to keep him doing so. “She's home.”

Behind him was Brax, who coughed. “It's time, Doctor.”

The Doctor nodded, eyes not leaving the door. Brax wasn't sure what to do with that.

“I suppose we won't be seeing one another for a while,” he said, really without a point.

“I suppose…” the Doctor repeated absently. 

This was familiar in that both of them had pictured such a scene many times, back in the day. After the Time War, before the Confession Dial. They'd pictured it so often it had become a functional memory, perfect in its distance from reality. A reality where they hadn't gotten this goodbye.

“Don't start a Time War, brother,” Brax advised jokingly.

The Doctor snorted. “That's why they sent _me_ , isn't it? As opposed to any of you.”

Unlike Aurik, who waited by the TARDIS, Brax didn't understand who “they” were.

“Farewell, then,” he finally said.

The Doctor nodded again. “Right.” And then he stepped outside.

Perhaps, from now on, it was best if they didn't say goodbye. Their relationship was best preserved in faulty memories.

* * *

The ostentatiously long walk went by in a blur. None of it mattered. The Doctor had one sole thought pulsing through him.

First, he could feel her. Tracing her golden, temporal fingers through his mind. Cleansing him.

Then, he could hear her. Whispers, divulging the secrets of the universe to him and him alone.

Her smell came next, odd if one weren't familiar with the two of them. She smelled of ancient wood, of multiple cities, forests, fires. He breathed in her, and he breathed in everything.

Her taste was metallic, loaded with chemicals. He could dedicate millennia marveling at the wonders of her construction, and it wouldn't be enough.

At last - at long, _long_ last - he could see her. A stunning blue whose existence was more solidified than anything or anyone else.

The TARDIS. Oh, how he'd _missed_ her.

“Ready, sir?” Aurik spoke up, having stepped back to give the Doctor an uninhibited view. It felt like the thing to do.

Wordlessly, the Doctor made his final steps. He raised his left hand. Snapped his fingers.

Infinity opened up to them.

They entered.


End file.
